


storms never reach your arms

by south_like_sherman



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Henry Laurens a+ parenting skills, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, I can't make up my mind, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, In Public, Internalized Homophobia, Kinda, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Smol alex is smol, sleepy alex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/south_like_sherman/pseuds/south_like_sherman
Summary: "John had meant to wake him up when they got there, of course; and he'd tried, God, he had tried. But when he'd looked down at Alex- his brow smooth and uncreased in sleep, ink stained hands, for once, still and sleepy, tangled in the hem of Johns's navy hoody- he just couldn't bring himself to do it."orAlex falls asleep on top of John on the subway and John is weak and gay so just rides around on the subway all day and it's basically all fluffand enter homophobic asshole





	1. miles to go before I sleep

John didn't mean for it to happen. Of course, he didn't _mean_ to get stuck on a late night subway going in circles, just because he didn't want to disturb his sleeping boyfriend- but _fuck_ , Alex hadn't slept in days, and God knew he needed the rest. He'd been so caught up in finals lately, he seemed to forget he needed to use basic human facilities in order to function in everyday life. But then again, this was Alex, and he seemed to do just fine without necessities such as food or sleep.

John had meant to wake him up when they got there, of course; and he'd tried, _God_ , he had tried. But when he'd looked down at Alex- his brow smooth and uncreased in sleep, ink stained hands, for once, still and sleepy, tangled in the hem of Johns's navy hoody- he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Especially not when Alex murmered something that sounded like John's name, as though it were a prayer passing reverently from his sleep laden lips. It wasn't a prayer like the ones John's father used to force him to repeat in the god-awful church (oh, the irony of that phrase), though- it was short and sweet, the one simple word containing more weight and meaning in its single syllable than all of the dreary passages John had memorised back in high school.

The second time around, he'd tried again, but then Alex had shifted _oh so slightly_ , and suddenly his lips (soft, chapped lips) were pressed into the crook where John's neck met his shoulders, and something broke inside of him. Something had been broken in him ever since he met Alex- but that was ok- it was a good kind of broken, the type that didn't exactly _break_ you, but instead shattered that small, fragile ball inside of you.  The ball that held all of your worries, all your doubts, all your fears and disappointments and pain. Alex smashed that ball to smithereens, and John had never picked up the pieces.

The train jolted, breaking into John's Alex oriented thoughts and causing him to list to the side slightly. He glanced down with an anxious gaze at Alex's sleeping form, praying to all the deities he hadn't woken. Fortunately, he was still sleepy and pliant in John's arms. Alex was a notoriously light sleeper, jerking awake at even the slightest of sounds. John couldn't imagine how exhausted he must be if he'd slept for this many hours (Four? Five? John didn't know- he hadn't thought checking his phone and possibly disturbing Alex for the time worth the risk) without waking.

Alex's breath was coming in short little huffs through his mouth now, warming the crook of John's neck and sending shivers down his spine, heat spreading through his veins and igniting a fire somewhere inside of him, that John knew no amount of water could douse. A flush of hot red spread over his freckled cheekbones. Dropping a kiss onto the top of Alex's head, John let his forehead rest against his hair for a moment. Mango shampoo, he determined, after a few tropically dazed moments, his mind foggy with the fragrant scent.

Alex smelled soft and sleepy, so warm and inviting, blurred around the edges, and John wanted to join him, oh _so badly_. He could feel his traitorous eyelids growing heavy, laden with the soft invitation of sleep, and somewhere in the back of his mind there was a voice, saying something about _stops_ and _classes in the morning_ , but John didn't want to listen to that voice. He'd much rather listen to the soft, breathy echoes of Alex exhaling and breathe in time with him, just let himself slip away.

As his lids slid closed over weary eyes, he let himself drown in Alex until that voice was nothing but a distant echo in the forgotten regions of his mind.

* * *

When he woke up, everything was hotter, brighter, louder than before, harsher and clearer than the sleep induced haze he'd fallen into. He blinked, clearing the fog from his eyes and yawning widely, shifting ever so slightly. Alex burrowed himself a little deeper into John, pushing his head against John's collarbone and mumbling something incomprehensible under his breath.

Extricating one arm from underneath Alex with painstaking care, John reached up one heavy hand and ran it through his disheveled ponytail, squinting against the bright lights of the subway train. His brow furrowed as his fingers caught in a knot, and he whined under his breath, tugging at the tangle with frustration. He winced as it pulled on his scalp. He gently disentangled his fingers, leaving the back of his head a disheveled mess of hair. He could fix it later.

Exhaling heavily, he let his eyes slide shut again, leaning his head back against the chair with a thump, one hand combing through Alex's hair with probably more care than was strictly necessary.

A small cough interrupted his slow decline into sleep, and he opened his eyes blearily, trying to locate the source of the noise. He furrowed his brow as his gaze fell upon a portly figure, probably in his late forties dressed a clean cut business suit. The man was glaring at John, as though he had personally wronged him, his pasty brow furrowed, eyebrows drawn right down into his watery eyes. White sixty year old men dressed in a business suits frowning at John were usually restricted to the few office parties John's dad had forced him to tag along to ( _"Come on, Jack, it'll be a good experience. Get you out of that arty phase, eh?"_ ).

John arched one brow, shaking the loose strands of hair out of his face as he spoke.

"I'm sorry, is there a problem?" His voice came out harsh and gravelly, hoarse with sleep, and he cleared his throat, hoping the thin veil of courteousness would be enough to mask the undertone of hostility.

The man just scowled deeper, his eyebrows pressed against his eyes so that they were barely visible. When he spoke, his voice was gruff and unfriendly, affected by the same vicious tone John had been so used to hearing throughout his childhood.

"Yeah, actually, there is-" John inhaled deeply, mentally preparing himself for any homophobic rant the man  was about to launch into "What you're doin' is gross, you're in public, bro. Look at you, cuddlin' on a train, the fuck do you think you're doin'? You look like a bunch of fags, man."

John closed his eyes, expecting the normal anger to seize him as it usually did when he was confronted with one of these situations. But when he opened his eyes again, he found nothing- just the residual weariness of having to deal with this, yet again.

"If it bothers you, you can move," John mumbled, keeping his voice low and dropping his head back to rest on Alex's hair. If he woke up now, nothing and no one was going to stop him from starting a three hour long debate with this asshole, and honestly, John was too tired to deal with that kind of shit right now.

"No, I'm not gonna fuckin' move, man. You should fuckin' move, I have more fuckin' right than you to be here!"

John squeezed his eyes shut stubbornly, trying to block out the mans abrasive voice, tightening his hold on Alex as though someone might try and take him away. He pressed another firm kiss to the top of his head, keeping his own bowed.

The man glanced around the carriage at the rest of the passengers, looking for support amongst them. Most of them looked away uncomfortably, avoiding his searching gaze, although a couple glared adamantly back.

He snorted with a careless disdain, turning his attention back to John, who kept his head lowered, purposefully avoiding his glaring eyes. The man took another deep breath, ready to start on another homophobic speech- and sure enough, he did not disappoint.

"What you're doin' is fuckin' _wrong_ , it's unnatural and disgusting- but if you want to go to hell, it's your choice-" as if John hadn't already heard all of this from his dad "- because _God_ does not fuckin' accept you-" _God doesn't accept you_ (the words accompanied by a blow to the cheek, a fist to the stomach) "- _I_ don't fuckin' accept you."

The mans voice was a mantra in his head, a never ending chant that had been there ever since John was a kid.  _God doesn't accept you, God doesn't accept you, God doesn't accept you, Goddoesn'tacceptyou, Goddoesn'tacceptyouGoddoesn'tacceptyou_ _Goddoesn'tacceptyouGoddoesn'tacceptyouGoddoesn'tacceptyouGoddoesn'tacceptyou **Goddoesn'tacceptyou**_ -

He blinked away the salty film of tears, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to stave off the familiar, grasping hands of anxiety (dragging him down, pulling him under, muffling his screams, choking him, drowning him, suffocating him).

"And, you're just sittin' there like it's _fuckin' natural_ , like you're not going to end up in hell because you're a _fuckin' fag_ -"

"Can you stop?" John's voice was brittle and cracked, barely more than a whisper, but still there, nonetheless.

The man scoffed, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Can _I_ stop? You're the one who's cuddling your fuckin' _boyfriend_ in public, _you're_ the one who's fuckin' _gay_ , you're the one who's a fuckin' _faggot_."

He spat the last word out, as though it were poison on his tongue. John flinched as it left his lips, his throat tightening and choking, making it hard for him to breathe, hard for him to _think_ ( _"You're a fucking faggot, Jack, and no faggot's ever staying under my roof- not if I can help it."_ )

Alex shifted, opening his eyes a fraction so only the faintest sliver of shining brown was visible, blinking blearily and gazing up at John with soft, molten eyes.

"John? Wha's happening? Someone's yelling?" Alex's voice was soft and blurred, words rounded and softened with sleep.

John tightened his jaw, pulling Alex closer to his chest, taking another deep breath. If he woke up now, properly woke up, John probably wouldn't be able to get him to rest for days- weeks, maybe.

"It's nothing, Alex. Go back to sleep." His voice was distant, echoing in his head and blurry in the harsh lights of the subway train. But Alex seemed to buy it, eyes already sliding shut as he nestled back into the safety of John's chest.

Alex was safe. That was all that mattered.


	2. don't want it troublin' your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John jerked away as though he had been burned, his head slamming back into the wall as the voice echoed around his head, around the apartment, around, around, around. He swallowed hard, eyes darting around frantically, searching for something, anything (he wasn't quite sure what), his chest heaving with each shuddering breath he took. He could feel his throat tightening, closing up, choking him, and there were hands, invisible hands that pulled at him, tore at him and get off, fucking get off-
> 
> "John?" Alex took a tentative step towards him, frowning slightly at John's obvious distress, lips kiss swollen and cheeks still flushed. "John, hey, you ok? Did I do something?"
> 
> John blinked, and the voice was gone. It was just Alex (it was always Alex). He dipped his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, giving himself a moment to recompose.
> 
> or
> 
> John and Alex are fooling around, but John can't quite shake that voice in the back of his head. s o m u c h a n g s t

John always loved kissing Alex; not necessarily because it signified the start of something _else-_ but there was just something about the hot press of his lips against John's he found so strangely addictive. The short breaths escaping in pants in between desperate, open mouthed kisses, or maybe just the slow slide of lips against lips, hands tangled in hair, limbs knocking against limbs and chest pressed tightly to chest, until there was no space left between them. Tonight, John was sure, would be no exception.

It was the end of finals week, and a few days after _the inciden_ t, and Alex had just finished his last exam. As usual, he would most probably arrive back at the dorm in a state of exhaustion and stress, seeking a distraction from the overbearing pressure of the aftermath of a test ( _oh God did I get that one right it was worth twelve fucking points_ or _God fucking damnit I thought it was 1812 I'm going to go fill out my application for McDonald's now bye_ )- and more often than not, John was perfectly happy to provide that distraction. Sometimes, it was something as simple as a movie marathon, throwing abuse (and popcorn) at the screen, stealing short, sweet kisses when the movie dragged on for too long. Other times, it was more heated, seeking solace in each other's bodies, slick skin sliding against slick skin. It seemed that the latter was to be chosen tonight.

Alex slammed open the door, letting it bang against the opposite wall with a tremendous crash, causing the lamp on the nearby table to shudder, as though even it could sense his mood. His eyes were dark, brow furrowed as he let the door swing shut behind him, and he shrugged off his bag from one shoulder, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor.

John glanced up, switching off the mindless daytime TV he'd put on in the background, acknowledging Alex's presence with a simple smile and a nod, not at all phased by his violent entrance. It was an unspoken consensus between the two to never to talk about exams immediately afterwards, an agreement that they had both faithfully abided by ever since they were roomed together. Alex was hard to read, though. Over the past few years, John had found that when he came crashing through the door like that, overflowing with energy, and possibly anger, it usually meant that he felt good about the exam. But movie marathons, on the other hand, were for a completely different kind of result.

Alex flicked out his tongue, moistening his lips as he stood in the hall, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, as though he wasn't quite sure what to do first.

"What's the plan?" John asked, allowing a wide grin to split his features as he took in Alex's state of alarm. Honestly, he didn't even need to ask. He knew exactly what Alex wanted to do. They hadn't had a lot of time to do (ahem) stuff lately; in between the stress of finals and attempting to navigate everyday life, there simply hadn't been time. But, judging by the way Alex was eyeing him right now, they had plenty to catch up on.

"Come here," Alex breathed, his voice not so much of a command as it was a suggestion- he always made sure John was comfortable with whatever they were (ahem ahem) doing, and every time, John thought he might love him just a little bit more.

John's smile was edging on a smirk as he pushed himself off of the shabby sofa (they were broke college students, it wasn't like they could afford a deluxe leather one), sauntering over to Alex with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He stopped just before him so they were mere inches apart, and he could feel Alex's hot breath warming the air between them, and see his lips slightly part, and all he to do was lean down _just a bit_. Alex's eyes glinted, the faded yellow light of the early evening throwing half of his face into shadow, eyelashes oil black as they fanned across his cheeks, his eyelids fluttering closed as he leaned forward, up, to John, as though he were falling, as though he couldn't quite help himself. And John caught him, John always caught him, with his hands, his lips, him, him, _him_.

John wasn't quite sure how it happened- the logistics, the exact complications- but all at once, Alex's lips were sealed tight to his, much gentler than John had anticipated. It was slow and sweet, and something inside of John blossomed and burst, all at once, withered and died and grew again. John could taste the coffee on Alex's breath, and the soft press of his lips against John's was almost too much, everything on fire where he touched, and it was like John only lived for these moments, when it was only them, them and no one else. No one to shout at them or yell abuse or tell them it was disgusting, or wrong, because how could Alex be wrong? Alex shifted slightly, pressing his chest against Johns' so there was no air left between them, his hands tangled in John's soft curls, tugging at the hair band insistently, and John whined, tilting his head back as Alex pressed a kiss to his jaw, his neck, his collarbone and there, _there_ -

**fucking _faggot_ -**

John jerked away as though he had been burned, his head slamming back into the wall as the voice echoed around his head, around the apartment, around, around, around. He swallowed hard, eyes darting around frantically, searching for something, anything (he wasn't quite sure what), his chest heaving with each shuddering breath he took. He could feel his throat tightening, closing up, choking him, and there were hands, invisible hands that pulled at him, tore at him and _get off_ , _fucking get off_ -

"John?" Alex took a tentative step towards him, frowning slightly at John's obvious distress, lips kiss swollen and cheeks still flushed. "John, hey, you ok? Did I do something?"

John blinked, and the voice was gone. It was just Alex (it was always Alex). He dipped his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, giving himself a moment to recompose.

When he spoke, his voice was the same distant tone he'd taken in the train station, echoing around, around, around. "Fine. Sorry, don't know what happened there."

He tried for a smile, but his lips wouldn't seem to cooperate, the corners of his mouth twitching, and falling (falling, falling, falling). _Just leave it, Alex_ , he prayed, hoping he wouldn't question him, hoping he'd just move on like he did on the train (hoping he was still on the train, hoping he was still soft and sleepy and so completely trusting- hoping he _still_ trusted him).

But John had no such luck.

Alex bit his lip, eyebrows drawn downwards to his eyes (like the man on the train, like his father- no, not like them- kinder, softer, _Alex_ ), and reached towards John (reaching, reaching, reaching- wait, no- _falling_ ), taking his hand in Alex's own.

"John-"

John flinched away, snatching his hand back as though Alex's touch burned, and that was _wrong_ , because he _wanted_ Alex to hold his hand, he _wanted_ Alex's lips on his own, he wanted _Alex_ -

**the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, Jack-**

A low, choking noise escaped from between his clenched teeth, and he buried his head in his hands (burying, burying, bury it, hide it, _no one can see_ ), fingers tugging at his hair ( _get off, fucking get off_ ).

"John? John, what's wrong? Talk to me, what did I do?" Alex's voice was soft, anxious, breaking through the fog in John's head, clearing the ringing (ringing, _ringing_ , church bells, ringing) in his ears.

John shook his head, swallowing back a sob (choking back a scream, breathing past a knife), clearing his throat before speaking.

"Nothing, I- it's nothing. I'm fine. You're fine, it's fine, it's all _fucking_ fine-" John broke off with a slightly hysterical chuckle, dropping his gaze back to the floor, avoiding Alex's eyes (Alex's lips, Alex's face, Alex, Alex, _Alex_ ).

"John, it's clearly _not_ 'nothing', you're fucking crying for God's sake." Alex replied breathily, his eyebrows tilting upwards slightly in confusion, in worry. He combed one hand through the stray strands of hair that had fallen around his face, brushing them away impatiently. John had barely noticed it, but the hot slide of tears was surely apparent enough. He raised his eyes sheepishly back to Alex, prepared to say something, anything- but the words died on his lips, and his gaze caught instead on the long, elegant line of his neck as he tipped his head back, the sharp contours of his jaw, the dip of his collar bone, the gleam of his eyes, the curve of his lips, _God_ , his lips-

**unnatural, disgusting, _wrong_ -**

John flinched again, as though someone had hit him (but of course, someone _had_ hit him, years ago, someone who'd held him and cared for him and loved him- until he didn't), tearing his wandering eyes away from Alex's inviting form, his breaths coming in short, ragged pants, and he couldn't _breathe_ , _he couldn't breathe_ why couldn't he just fucking _breathe_ (fingers down his throat, hands stifling his screams, _get off, fucking get off_ )-

"Hey, John, John, look at me, look at me-" **don't fucking look Jack, don't you fucking _dare_.**  "-John, it's ok, you're ok."

Alex's hand was pressed against John's cheek (but John wasn't quite sure how it got there, but it felt ok- no, not ok, it felt like fire, burning him up from the inside, leaving only ashes- wait, _wait_ , rebuilding him, fixing him, smoothing off his edges), his thumb wiping away the stray tears trailing down the arch beneath his eye. It grounded him, anchored him down to earth, and John somehow knew if Alex let go, if he stopped, John might just float away into the sky (away, away, _away from pain_ \- no, away from Alex), drift into the sun and burn, shatter, drown. John needed to tell him, needed to let him know, _Alex needed to know_ , John had to, had to-

"Love you." When John spoke, his voice shattered (shattered, like his father's fist connecting with the mirror), cracked (cracked, like John's wrist against the table), broke (broke, like the window when the vase was flung through it)- but he'd said it, _Alex had to know_ , or maybe he already knew- but that didn't matter, maybe he'd forgotten- Alex sometimes forgot things, forgot he'd left the fridge open or the stove on, forgot his coat when it rained, and needed to be reminded of it, constantly reminded or he'd just leave ( _God_ , John hoped he didn't leave).

Alex feathered a kiss over the smooth curve of John's cheek, the tip of his nose, the soft skin of his eyelids, the edge of his hairline, the sharp angle of John's jaw, and everywhere, everywhere, there was Alex, Alex, _Alex_. John couldn't quite catch the exact words Alex breathed into his skin (pressing them down as though he were marking them in ink, carving them into John forever), but he had a good idea of what they might've been.

In the end, John thought, that might be all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the response i from the last chapter was absolutely insane  
> like i wasn't expecting anything like that, thank you all sooooooo much for the amazing comments and the kudos and the bookmarks and everything you have no idea how much this means  
> i actually finished this the day after i posted the first chapter but it took me another day to edit it and by then i figured i'd wait till after christmas to post it and i was too paranoid to do it before now and yeah  
> huge shoutout to @kitten-with-too-many-ships on tumblr for reading this for me and telling me it was good to go like i never would've posted any of this without you thank you so much  
> again, my tumblr is @the-girl-who-cried-ship please come scream at me  
> hope y'all had a great christmas, i'm now off to visit the side of my family that actually likes me hallelujah
> 
> ~ Kinzie

**Author's Note:**

> so this is like the fluffiest thing I've ever written???? yeah i need help  
> y'all can find me on tumblr @the-girl-who-cried-ship  
> the only people following me rn are porn blogs help
> 
> ~ Kinzie


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